


Sacred Oaks

by seterasilence



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), F/F, Gags, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Rope Bondage, Shibari, The Bond Zine, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25116736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seterasilence/pseuds/seterasilence
Summary: Sometimes it takes more than words to tell someone you missed them.Originally appeared in The Bond Zine.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 87
Collections: The Bond Zine





	Sacred Oaks

Crowley leaned back and the ropes tightened along the flat planes of her body, a knotted net covering her like a second skin. She writhed, seeking that plunge. Soft edges usually painted her world at this point, an encompassing pressure and narrowing of everything outside of this moment. But as Aziraphale bound her calves to her thighs with loops and lines, that feeling remained just out of reach. 

“Hush,” Aziraphale said softly. The rope knobs fell down her chest like pressure points. Her arms were being folded and pressed against her back, the rope connected to her collar pattering down her spine like discs, and Crowley knew it would leave diamond-shaped marks and reddened lines later, a new kind of scale design on this corporeal manifestation. Tighter and tighter. A soft moan left her mouth and Aziraphale leaned closer, ran her thumb over Crowley’s panting mouth, as if making a promise.

“I missed you,” Aziraphale murmured to her, threading another section from behind, following the wet clench between her thighs, the rope sliding up against her clit. Tiny nubs had been tied into the rope and as she undulated against it, she felt the knots rub against her, friction along clit to labia. Aziraphale tied the end to her collar and she pushed her head back to expose the long column of her neck. Every movement she made sent the knots rubbing along her. Heaviness pooled in her pelvis, a deep-seated want that couldn’t be miracled away, something she’d had since the beginning of time, watching a platinum-haired angel as a steady transfixed northern star throughout the centuries. 

And still, she couldn’t relax. Even now, she couldn’t let go.

She should be a heap of want and need at this point, easy for Aziraphale to position and croon commands to, but her skin remained too tight, her brain wouldn’t quiet. She closed her eyes against the press of tears. It hadn’t been this hard to find release since they first approached this: Crowley a jittering pile of limbs and Aziraphale hiding her fear of doing the wrong thing underneath a steel will. 

“Something wrong, love?” Aziraphale asked.

_A million things,_ Crowley wanted to say. _I should’ve gone with you. Shouldn’t have stayed back. I thought I should remember what it was like to be on my own again—I used to go decades without seeing you. Even though it was only a week with you overseas and we spoke every night, I sulked the whole time, angel. I paced the bookshop. Watched mindless television curled up alone in our bed. Screamed at the plants like I hadn’t done in years. Don’t know why I felt I had something to prove by staying behind._

“I’m trying, but I can't…” Crowley trailed off. Can’t shed that skin. The knots stroked her, fast and frantic.

Aziraphale leaned in and kissed her, and it was like the kiss at the airport. Crowley had her hands shoved deep in her pockets, trying and failing not to pace in front of the arrivals gate. When she saw Aziraphale’s travel-weary face, her sky-blue eyes, that tumble of curls against her cheeks, that delighted smile at being waited for, Crowley had beelined straight for her, let her palms cup the angel’s face up, and kissed her. Kissed her as a welcome back, to make up for the week of stupid nothing Crowley had barely survived. “Take me home,” she’d growled. Aziraphale had blinked long lashes in agreement and tilted her mouth up again, an offering Crowley couldn’t refuse.

“Try this,” Aziraphale whispered, settling the gag against Crowley’s lips, letting her get used to the texture. Crowley opened and Aziraphale levered the thing in, Crowley’s fangs hooking against the bar. She whined, thrashed as the soaked knots slid, and she didn’t know what she needed. It shouldn’t be this hard. She should be sinking like a cement block, not buoyed up by the endless sea of her own insecurities.

“I missed you,” Aziraphale repeated, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Missed your weight against me. Missed holding you. It was a hard week.”

_Me too,_ Crowley thought and like a gasp of air she felt her mind begin to focus, as if she’d finally caught sight of light at the end of a dark anxious tunnel. _Follow it._

“Darling, you’re absolutely breathtaking.” 

Crowley closed her eyes. Maybe she didn’t deserve this. She bit hard into the gag, as if she could release the feelings tangling her up. A sudden weight pressed against her front and Aziraphale knelt before her, winding new rope around her thighs, tying them together. Crowley whined, and yes, thank somebody, _anybody_ , for her loneliness had finally been chased away with the steady hand of possession. Crowley's red-tipped breasts brushed against Aziraphale’s, a soft caress that had Crowley wanting her mouth free and put to good use. But the angel was a pillar holding her up, unhooking the rope responsible for the warm ache rolling in her lower belly, and that was right, that was good. Crowley’s pleasure shouldn’t be her own—it belonged wholly to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale cinched them together—thigh to thigh, cunt to cunt, waist to waist—and Crowley leaned back. She could fall off a cloud, she could fall out of the sky, and Aziraphale would hold her safe, would be her sacred oak, her _Yggdrasil_ , her _Kalpavriksha_ , her _Gaokerena_. Her world-tree. Pleasure rolled through her, exploding like a supernova, and she clenched against the angel, barely heard Aziraphale talk her through it as she gasped and came. Her head lolled forward and settled against Aziraphale’s chest. The knots dug gently into her. She hissed, oversensitive, and Aziraphale petted her hair with her free hands, kissed her cheeks, telling her how beautiful, how good, how loved she was.

And Crowley didn’t have anything left to prove, nothing at all, except how much she loved, how thankful she was that an angel older than time had chosen her, her, her.


End file.
